Prayers of the Damned
by dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Why have a spy when you can have the King captured, interrogated and killed? Lola does more than spy on Crowley. Crowley's desperate enough to seek any help he can. Including using his new-found humanity to call for a certain angel. But what happens after that? AU from 'Blade Runners'
1. Chapter 1: Calling on Angels

**Prayers of the Damned**

 **Summary:** Why have an informant when you can just have the King of Hell captured, tortured in an undisclosed location, and killed? Abaddon has Lola capture and torture Crowley. Crowley's desperate enough to seek any help possible. Even that blasted angel's. Though he is actually surprised when Castiel answers. But what the hell happens now? No one's sure, but in a world where Heaven and Hell have both gone mad, it may take the most unusual alliance of the two to save the day. AU season 9.

 **Chapter One: Calling on Angels**

Crowley gasped, slumped against the table. Lola was gone, presumably to report to Abaddon. He didn't think he cared, not right now. She was gone, and he had a few precious moments to breathe.

He should have known. A demon who was helpful? He of all people should have known better. He might have challenged Abaddon, but he hadn't defeated her. As long as the outcome was in doubt, his people were as changeable as sheets in the wind. It didn't matter if he was the last acknowledged King of Hell. A challenge to the throne had to be answered and eliminated before that title bought him loyalty, and his enforced absence at the Winchester's hands hadn't helped at all. Made it ten times worse, actually. No, he should have known that any offer made, no matter how many flattering words and promises it came with, was suspect.

But he had needed blood so badly. And then he had needed relief from the torture of his humanity, the feelings that had been reawakened after centuries of absence. Lola had offered him both. And in his addiction induced craving and human weakness, he had given in and accepted her help. And made the mistake of not killing her afterward.

Which was why he was strapped, naked and exposed, to a table in a hotel room remade as a temporary torture chamber. The hotel staff had obviously either been paid to ignore the noise and the fuss, or else possessed by Abaddon's loyal demons. Could be both, actually.

It had been centuries since he'd been the one on the rack, as opposed to the one dealing out the punishment. He didn't like the reversal. Being stretched out, helpless and alone and in torment, it reminded him of when he had been dragged down and made into a demon. A memory made far worse, far more real, by his current half-human state. It also reminded him of his treatment at the hands of the Winchesters. Dean and Sam's imprisonment had been bad enough, and Kevin had enjoyed beating him every so often too. But he had to admit, if he had to choose between the Winchesters and this...he really rather missed the Moose and the Squirrel.

"Miss me, my king?" The mockery stung, not that he was going to let it show. He raised his aching head to see Lola in the doorway.

He dragged up a half-smile for her. "Not a bit. I was enjoying the rest, pet." He might be chained, and he knew he was going to hate what happened next, dreaded what was about to be done to him, but hell would freeze solid before he showed that. She might be able to make him scream (she had, several times already) but she wasn't going to make him grovel. Or beg for a respite. "You could always come and join me. Have a bit of fun." He offered her a suggestive smirk. "Table's big enough for two. Or, you could always let me return the favor. Hands have really done a number, darling."

"Always the sharp tongue. Even with your kingdom in ruins and you helpless and at my mercy." She smiled, a dark and hungry expression. "But my orders are to break you. And I will." She moved closer, a slow, sinuous walk he'd have admired at any other time. "I think it's about time to start again. But before that...I've got something for you." She held up a syringe full of dark red viscous liquid.

Dread coiled in his gut, though he tried to keep it from his face. Being human made him so much more sensitive, made everything worse. Worse still, he couldn't think properly, couldn't hold back as much as he should be able to. As much as he needed to. And she knew it.

But the dance had to go on. "Kind of you to think of me, darling, but I'm not in the mood for a pick-me-up right at the moment. Was thinking a massage might be more beneficial first." He hated how his eyes stayed fixed on that little cylinder of blood. He wanted it, craved it, needed it. Despised it, loathed it, feared it beyond all other forms of torture he could be subjected to.

"Maybe later." She smirked, then moved forward and placed one hand on his wrist. In spite of himself, he tensed. The smirk widened, and a second later the sharp sting of the needle bit into his flesh, followed by a flood of something that felt like fire, and worse. He gasped, because he couldn't help it. The sensations...every cut and bruise on his body was amplified, and the turmoil within him rose from a grumble to a cacophony.

Lola smirked, trailed one sharp nail down his face. "I'll let you enjoy that for a little while. And then, we can have another little chat." She twisted her finger, slashing the nail across his cheek and down his throat so that he jerked in helpless response, then turned and left the room.

The new cut burned like fire, like the chaffed wrists that were rubbing raw against the shackles. Like the slashes all over his abdomen. All over all of him, really. Lola was no expert, couldn't have matched him on his worst day, but she was a fast learner and she didn't have to be that good, not in his weakened condition.

He closed his eyes as the rush of human emotions crashed over him. Pain. Grief. Centuries worth of guilt and suffering. He felt the perspiration break over his forehead, and the hot sting in his eyes. He clenched his jaw, hoping not to disgrace himself with tears.

Damn the Winchesters for making him half human. The bastards. He thought fleetingly of his phone, which Lola had gleefully destroyed in front of his eyes, the first night after she had chained him. Bloody bitch. It meant that Sam and Dean were unlikely to know anything was even wrong. And certainly, they wouldn't be able to find him. Not that he thought they'd even try.

That thought hurt more than he thought it should. To his mortification, it upset him that Sam and Dean wouldn't care to try and find him. It bothered him, that knowledge that they didn't care about him. A reluctant business partner, that's all he was to them. Never mind that they'd forced him to come to see them as more. Stockholm Syndrome, humans called it. A fucking bloody nuisance, but there was no denying the effects. He wanted Sam and Dean to see him as more. After everything, he wanted those two, at least, to believe he could change, to believe in the humanity they had forced upon him. The knowledge that they didn't, that Dean despised him and Sam most likely didn't care how he'd saved his life and freed him Gadreel, even at the risk of his own existence...it hurt, on some level he couldn't explain.

He didn't want their trust, or their friendship, for God's sake. But acknowledgment would be nice. The awareness that they'd rather put a blade in his heart than offer even a minimal thank you hurt enough that he bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from responding to it.

Damn it, at this point he'd settle for having them come put him out of his bloody misery. Hell, give him thirty seconds with a phone, and he'd call and ask them to. Of course, his phone was destroyed, so...no luck there.

But the thought of a phone call jarred his mind. He closed his eyes and focused on the thought, because at least it was a distraction from his current predicament, and the pain that filled him, his own self pity and self loathing.

Calling, calling...why did that zing a light bulb? Why exactly? Couldn't call the bloody Winchesters. Phone was smashed. Not like they shared a psychic hotline. Not unless they summoned him, which was unlikely unless Dean got truly impatient. In a month or so. Or longer. Pity he couldn't just drop a message straight into their skulls.

He'd always envied their feathered poster boy that talent.

Ah. Castiel. Angel turned human turned angel again, if the rumors were to be believed. The angel he loved to hate. They hadn't parted on the best of terms, but having his heart carved out by angel blade didn't sound half-bad at the moment.

And the thoughts connected and the lights went off in his skull.

Castiel was an angel. And with Lola dosing him to make his torture more painful, he was human. Partly, at least.

Angels were supposed to hear human prayers. Especially directed ones. Even from the less savory sort of character. A prayer was a prayer was a prayer. And Castiel was a bit of a soft touch. Compassion for all and sundry and all that. Odd habit in a soldier. But in theory, Castiel could, and presumably would, hear him if he prayed. Possibly. If the so-called angel radio was working.

If it was worth the effort. It was a long shot, at best. And Castiel wasn't his favorite person, ever. More like the opposite, really. Of course, Castiel might just kill him, given that he wasn't the angel's favorite entity either.

Lola reappeared in the doorway, derailing his thoughts. "Enjoying my gift?"

"Naturally." He swallowed, wishing he could wipe away the sweat on his face. It gave away more than he wanted it to.

"Then I think we should have another talk. About the Winchesters. About your plans, your followers...I want to know everything about you." She sidled closer, then set the tray she was carrying on the little cart by his head.

Even from a foot away, he could feel the heat. Not good. And next to the tray was the silver angel blade she'd divested him of. Also not good.

He mustered up a snarky remark. "Long story love. Perhaps a bit more comfort would make the telling easier." He smirked and shifted his hips. "Business and pleasure and all that."

"Oh, I never mix the two. And...business first, I think." She took the lid off the tray, pulled off a dull knife that glowed with heat. Demon induced fire, naturally. Which actually could hurt him, with or without the humanity that made his skin shrink from the mere heat alone. "Don't worry, you'll tell me everything I want to know. And then, maybe I'll give you a last burst before I kill you for the Queen." She smirked, then slid the blade under his skin, just under his armpit, and began to draw it down.

His jaw clenched, head arching back in helpless reaction. The pain was excruciating. He'd felt worse, done worse, but to his human sensitive skin, raw as he was from the recent injection, it was like being on the rack for the first time. He bit back a cry, then a strangled gasp as she turned the blade so she was running it just under his skin. Skinning him alive, peeling the skin from his rib cage and leaving blood and burns behind.

She twisted again, driving a choked groan from him. He'd learned long ago, screaming was better than not screaming. But then, there was some pride in keeping one's mouth shut. It was a balancing game, of sorts.

Another twist, this time at a particularly sensitive nerve cluster she hadn't touched in a bit. That drove a half-breathless scream from him.

Damn it all. The angel could only kill him once. And at least he'd be able to get a message to the Winchesters. They might hate him, but they'd kill Abaddon and avenge him this just the same.

He resigned himself to screaming as a part of his mind let go, drifted deeper inside. Fell through the sea of pain to where he could at least form words.

 _'Castiel. Castiel...I could use some assistance. Please. If you wouldn't mind terribly…'_ Lola had worked the knife almost to his groin, and now she twisted it again. He screamed, and let that scream reverberate through the prayer. _'Ahhh! Please, Castiel...help me.'_ Lola ripped at his skin and he screamed again.

He held onto the link as long as he could, until his screams of pain drowned his ability to think, and he lost himself in the sea of agony.

 *****PotD*****

Someone was praying to him. Castiel reeled, then sat with a thump on the bed of the motel room he occupied.

Someone was praying to him. To him, specifically. Someone who was suffering great pain. He clutched his head as another scream rippled through his mind, desperate and agonized.

Someone was begging him for help.

It couldn't be Sam or Dean. They would have called his phone. Besides, he'd know their voices, no matter what befell them or him. The voice felt vaguely familiar, and oddly dark, but he couldn't place it.

Possibly one of his brothers or sisters. Though why they would call on him, when most of them considered him a monster, the angel who had caused the Fall, was beyond him.

Another agonized cry rippled through his consciousness.

Dean would tell him it was probably a trap. But it didn't matter. Someone was calling him for help, begging him for assistance, or for mercy. He couldn't ignore it. Even if it was a trap...someone was in pain. And if he died trying to save someone...well, there were worse ways to go.

He gathered up his few belongings, then sent a quick text to Sam and Dean, informing them of the call and that he was going to answer. Then he checked himself out of the room and got into his car. The pulse of the prayer still beat at his brain. He closed his eyes, orienting himself to the call, pinpointing the location, then started the car and drove, following the screams in his mind.

 _ **Author's Note:** Crowley and Cas are kind of my favorite characters, and they work well together. I kinda wanted to do a fic where they worked together to save the world, instead of endangering it. So...here we go._


	2. Chapter 2: Plea Bargaining

**Chapter Two: Plea Bargaining**

Hours passed. Or days. He couldn't tell. He knew time passed, but his world was narrowed to the rush of human blood, the torment of humanity, Lola's torture, and his verbal sparring with her.

He hadn't broken yet. That was something. But his body was covered with wounds, bad even for a demon. Sweat ran down his face constantly, salt burning in the cuts to his face and neck and shoulders. Though at least it hid his tears.

His wrists bled near constantly, rubbed nearly to the bone by his shackles. Angel knife cuts were interspersed with long raw burns and places where the skin had been stripped from him. Bruises mottled what skin he had left. Bruises and welts.

He should have known a bitch like her was a fan of the bloody riding crop.

The bones in his hands and legs had been broken. So had a couple ribs.

Castiel hadn't answered. He hoped it was because angel radio did not in fact work any more, or because Castiel's Fall had made him unable to hear it. But when the human blood pumped in his veins, in the aftermath of yet another dose injected into his bloodstream….

He mostly thought it was because Castiel knew who was on the other end of the line, and simply didn't give a damn. The thought was like a knife of despair in his heart, made all the more pathetic by the fact that he continued to call out to the angel for help, when he was lucid enough to do so.

The old saying drifted through his mind...'madness is doing the same thing and expecting different results.' In that case, he was completely insane. But it was the only hope he had, bloody poor one though it was.

The bite of the needle into his wrist brought his attention back to Lola. She sneered. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Best time I've had in a while." He thought he managed a lazy smile. "Got a bit of an itch though. Mind cutting me loose so I can scratch?"

Her expression twisted. "How about I scratch it for you?" She put the blade of the knife she was using against his throat. "I can think of a lot of things I'd like to scratch on, and inside you. And things I'd like to scratch out of you." She made her point by digging a fingernail into one of the lash marks over his stomach. He flinched.

She dragged the nail across the wound, and he struggled to keep the pain from his face. It would have been easier without the blood-induced fire singing through him, magnifying the sensation until it felt like she traced his wounds with a red-hot coal.

He clenched his jaw, forced a smirk. "Not bad love. Go a little higher, would you?"

"Oh? I thought you said...lower." She ground her hand into the skin over his navel, twisting the long nails in. He choked involuntarily. "See, you sound better already."

"Bloody whore…." When all else failed, resort to cheap insults. Not his favorite tactic, but usually effective.

It worked. She withdrew her nails from his gut so she could punch him in the jaw. "Better than you." She spat in his face. "You couldn't pay a starving human bitch in the street enough to sleep with you now."

He spat blood and kept silent. She was probably right about that one, given his current condition.

She smirked. "You know, I don't think we've seen nearly enough of the color of your insides yet. Don't you agree? We should really change that." She set the tip of the knife to his chest, just below his sternum. "I wonder if you'll be as insulting when I'm squeezing that heart of yours, that oh too human heart, in my hands."

He coughed, and fought to maintain a look of defiance. "Hate to tell you, darling, my heart's a stone."

"We'll see." She smiled coldly into his eyes, and dug the knife in.

And someone knocked on the door.

Lola froze. There was a long moment of silence, and then another hesitant knock.

Lola huffed and straightened. "Whoever you are, go away."

A muffled cough, then a rough voice. "I apologize. I would, but...I was called."

Crowley swallowed blood. That voice. That phrase. It couldn't be...he tried to make his face an expressionless mask.

Lola shot him a poisonous look that promised a great deal of pain to come. Then she sighed and went to the door. "You're mistaken."

"I don't think so." The voice sounded uncertain though, and Crowley felt his heart sink, dread coiling in his gut.

Lola scowled. Then with a wrench, she pulled the locks free on the door and yanked it open. "I said, you're mistaken, so get lost."

A muffled thud from the doorway, though the angle was wrong for Crowley to see more than a flash of silver. A choked gasp from Lola. A flare of nasty orange light that marked the death of a demon. Then a familiar figure stepped through the door, a cold expression on his face. "And I said...I don't think so."

Crowley stared at the figure in the doorway. Castiel. The angel really had come. He wasn't sure which he felt more, relief or dread. He slumped against the table. He was about to be freed, or he was about to die.

Castiel scowled down at Lola's body a moment longer, then leaned down and dragged her back with one hand so he could shut the door. He kicked it closed and flicked the lock shut, then turned. His eyes were wary as they scanned the room. Then they landed on Crowley.

Crowley dragged up a weak half-smile. "Well look at you. You sure took your bloody sweet time answering, didn't you?"

Castiel's brow furrowed. He moved a few steps closer, eyes darting over the room again as if he expected either a demon attack or a human just lying around. Then the blue-eyed gaze came back to Crowley. "Where is the person who called me?"

"I did." He hurt. Somehow, it felt worse now that he had at least a half a hope of release.

Castiel's brow furrowed deeper. "Demons can't summon angels. Not like that at least."

Crowley snorted, coughed blood, then spat it out. "Yes, well, thanks to the Wonder Duo and their unauthorized medical experiments, not to mention her idea of fun..." He jerked his chin at Lola's corpse, then met the angel's eyes again. "...I can." His teeth ground together for a moment. "Moose's little injections were meant to make me human. And just because he never bloody finished the trials, doesn't mean he didn't succeed in that much at least."

Castiel moved two steps closer, studying him intently, as if he could read his essence just by staring. Well, being an angel, he probably bloody well could. Then Castiel blinked. "The trials made you partly human."

"Yes, exactly. As I said. And as long as I keep getting dosed with human blood, I stay human. Mostly." He sighed. "And when I got captured, my oh-so-gentle jailer and torturer decided to keep me human so that I would be more...susceptible to her treatments. Which means right now, I'm at least a half-and-half." He snarled the last words out, then pulled on his chains. "And since that's evidently enough to get your attention, and since you've actually bothered to come, a little help would be appreciated."

Castiel frowned at him again. His gaze flicked over the room, and then he reluctantly sheathed his angel blade. "Why did you call me?"

"Because there bloody well wasn't anyone else to call!" His jaw clenched. "I can't even use a bloody phone, never mind that mine was destroyed, so Rocky and Bullwinkle are out, and this isn't exactly a situation I'd call a demon in for help on, now is it? Even if I had any bloody idea who was still loyal." That stung, it really did. "Now, if you don't mind..."

"Why should I free you?" Castiel was unyielding.

Well, he'd been expecting that question at least. And bargaining was something he was good at. "Because your boys, Squirrel in particular, are set on ending Abaddon. And I have information they need, information on a weapon they can use to affect the bloody bitch's demise. I was looking for it when I got caught. Without me, they'll never find the blasted thing. I had a hard enough time following the trail myself." He tugged at his chains again. "Cut me loose, help me out, and I'll give you the info I have. I'll even help the boys finish their little crusade. Believe me, I'm invested in it." He glared at his restraints. "Now more than ever."

Castiel stared at him. "I don't trust you."

"Smartest thing you've said all year." He scowled at the angel. "I assure you, the feeling is mutual."

"Then why should I help you?"

He snarled in frustration, snapping his head back against the table with a thunk that made his vision gray out for a moment. Anger warred with desperation, and with fear, and a terrible, inexplicable hurt.

Damn it all, he was human enough to have prayed for the angel. Wasn't that worth anything?

He clenched his fists, letting physical pain distract him. The anger washed away, leaving him feeling more weary than anything else. He exhaled, as deep as his broken ribs would allow. No more bargaining. No more dancing. "Don't then. Put your damn blade in my heart and go, if that's your fancy." He couldn't move his arms, chained in a spread-eagled position as he was, but he opened his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. "All I ask is kill me or free me. No bargains. No games. Just finish this, one way or another."

Something flickered in Castiel's expression, but it vanished too quickly for him to place it. A pity the angel had learned the meaning of 'poker face' during their partnership.

Castiel stared at him a moment longer, then flicked his wrist. The angel blade dropped into his hand again. He stepped forward and put the blade to Crowley's sternum, above his heart. "You said you were supplying the Winchesters with information."

"I did. Call them and verify, if you like. Have to use your own phone though. Mine's a bust." A small tendril of hope flickered in his breast. Perhaps Castiel would listen to him after all. The blade over his heart argued more for his death than his salvation, but he had asked. He choked on blood leaking down the back of his throat, and made an actual effort not to spit it over the angel's trench-coat sleeve.

Castiel held his gaze for a moment, then stuck a free hand in his pocket and pulled out a phone. He hit a number. Crowley heard the phone buzz twice, then click. "Dean."

He couldn't quite hear the hunter's response. He didn't bother to try. Besides, Castiel only needed a small excuse to kill him, and eavesdropping was as good as any.

"No. No leads on Metatron. But...I found Crowley."

A burst of sound that was clearly surprised, and loud enough he could almost hear the words.

"Yes. As I said, I found him. It's...difficult to explain. But he says he has information for you. Something about a weapon."

Another burst of noise, and Castiel's brow furrowed again. Then he lowered the phone. "He wants to talk to you."

Crowley choked back a laugh. "Well, either free up a hand, darling, or you'll have to hold it a bit closer."

Castiel scowled, but held the phone to his ear and jaw. The pressure of metal and plastic on his injuries made him wince, but he managed a rough approximation of his usual tones. "Hello Squirrel."

"Crowley? Where the hell are you? You've been MIA for almost a month. What the hell?"

"The hell indeed. One of Abaddon's flunkies got the drop on me. I've been a little tied up." And worse. "Phone got smashed, so no way to call in. Sorry about that, or I would be if I didn't have other things on my mind. But I do have some information on your little toy sword."

Dean made a sharp sound that could have been disgust, exasperation, or something else entirely. "If you're so out of commission, how'd Cas find you?"

"Thank Moose for that. His little dose of joy juice allows me to ride the airways, human style. Figured if I was in enough of a jam, I might get the feather-duster's attention." Castiel glared at him. He ignored the angel. "Turns out, it worked. And since he presumably didn't recognize my tones over the airways, your angel friend was kind enough to dispatch my captor for me."

There was another snort. "Wait...you got captured, and you prayed? To Cas?"

"Desperate times, desperate measures, so on and so forth...look, point is, your favorite feathery hero is here, and I have information, which I will happily dispense...but I would prefer to do it when I am not shackled to a table and bleeding out all over the floor. Besides, you'll need some help following the trail the rest of the way, if it's anything as much a pain in the ass as the first part. So..."

"Put Cas back on the line."

He jerked his head away from the phone. "He wants you now."

Castiel brought the phone back to his ear. "Dean?"

Another burst of chatter. Castiel frowned. "Are you sure?" Listened again, then sighed. "All right. If you think that's what needs to be done. Do you want me to meet you somewhere, or come all the way?"

Burst of chatter, and Castiel sighed again. "As you wish. I'll bring him." A pause. "Yes, I think I can handle him by myself. Yes. I'll update you regularly. Yes. I'll call you if there's any trouble. Yes Dean, I know to be careful." The angel directed a baleful glare at him. "I've dealt with Crowley before." He paused again. "Yes. It should only take me about a day I think. I need gas."

Crowley blinked. Ah. He'd forgotten about that. The angel had started driving. Ghastly car too. Practically a pimp car. Done tastefully in black and chrome, might not have been too bad, but that gold color…

He never had found out why Castiel was driving anyway, as opposed to flying. Perhaps the angels couldn't fly with Heaven closed? Or at least, Castiel couldn't. He'd have to explore that.

Sometime when he wasn't bound, broken and bleeding, and depending on the angel as his only hope of rescue.

Castiel muttered a few more agreements, then snapped the phone shut with a click. Blue eyes watched Crowley. Then the sword was withdrawn from his chest and Castiel turned away.

A protest rose to his lips, but it died before he could speak it as Castiel bent and retrieved a set of ugly iron keys from a table on the far wall. The keys to his bindings.

Castiel returned to his side and stood looking down at him, eyes smoldering. Then the angel bent close, his voice a low, menacing hiss. "Dean said I should bring you. But if you do anything, if you threaten them or make any attempt to escape me..."

"You'll carve out my heart, rip me to pieces...I know the tune precious, and I'm not in the mood to dance to it." He tugged on the shackle nearest Castiel's head. "Are you going to cut me loose or not?"

Castiel stood still a moment longer, then straightened and set the key to the first of his bonds. Seconds later, his wrist came free. He stifled a gasp as the blood clotted around the band tugged his wounded flesh, then held himself still as Castiel undid his other wrist, the collar at his throat, his ankles, and the broad band across his midriff.

The snick of the last binding falling free was almost enough to make him weep with relief. He had to bite his lip to prevent it. He lay a moment, savoring the feeling of freedom, then rotated his arms slowly to his sides to sit up.

That effort was nearly enough to make him pass out. He gritted his teeth and forced himself upright, wishing he had something, anything, to cover himself with. He wasn't modest, no demon really was, but he didn't enjoy being exposed and vulnerable as he was.

Castiel's eyes were darting around the suite. "We need to go."

"Yes. About that. I hope you've got a plan." He hadn't had a plan beyond getting loose of his chains.

Castiel frowned. "What do you mean?"

He sighed. "You might recall those handy little angel bullets I had made a while back." The way Castiel's face darkened said the angel remembered it very well indeed. "Well, Abaddon has the demon version. Painful, incapacitating, not necessarily lethal, unfortunately."

Castiel's frown deepened. "What are you saying?"

He sighed again, and tried not to sway. Difficult, the way his head was spinning. "I am saying that the little bitch you killed shot me with a bullet that neutralizes my demon powers. I can't heal, I can't pop out, I can't even materialize clothing until it's dug out of me. And, as you pointed out so brilliantly, we need to get the hell out of here, before another one of Abaddon's stooges comes in. Or worse, Abaddon herself." He looked up at the angel. "Inconvenient as it is, I'm human in more than just my new-found communications skills. Or at least, no better off."

Castiel grimaced, then cast a look at the blades Lola had been using to torture him. "Where were you shot?"

"Not a chance, darling. I'm in no mood for you to play field surgeon with my insides, thanks. Don't trust you to be nearly careful enough." He grimaced, his expression a dark mirror to Castiel's. "Besides, bullet's shifted. All the torture, you know. It'll take me a bit more concentration than I have to spare to find it, much less take it out. And probably more time than we have."

Castiel considered. "Can you walk?"

"Two fractured kneecaps make that a bit problematic. Besides...hotel staff and guests frown on strolling about au naturel." He gestured to his body. "The bitch there ruined the suit I was wearing, naturally, and I wasn't exactly prepared with spare clothes when she attacked me." Well, he had been, but Lola knew enough to minimize his escape chances by destroying them too. "We need a way to get me out of here unseen."

Castiel was glancing around the room, eyes taking in the furnishings of the suite. It was the same look he'd seen in the past, that intent concentration that reminded him why Castiel had been a respected warrior in heaven, and why he had allied with the angel once upon a time.

Castiel's eyes raked over his wounds. "I could call an ambulance for you..."

"One look at this place, and you'd be arrested. I hate to say it, but your face is not exactly a convincing picture of peace and sunshine darling." He grimaced.

Castiel frowned, which only proved his point, really, then looked over the suite. His eyes touched on the bed-sheet, and the towels Lola had used to wipe her hands. The frown line in his brow creased deeper. "Humans...they have a word for when someone is attacked and stripped of their possessions..."

"It's called a robbery. Or a mugging, if you're talking about a back alley street-fight style robbery." He winced as speech pulled at the wounds in and around his mouth. "And the point of that little observation is?"

"I have a plan."

He opened his mouth to ask what it was, but didn't get that far. Castiel's fist crashed into his face. Pain exploded through his head. At full strength as the King of Hell he could have shaken it off, but his powers were bound, he was weak, and he was still human sensitive. And Castiel had a far stronger punch than Lola.

His mind spiraled into darkness.

 *****PotD*****

Castiel caught Crowley as the demon crumpled and almost fell off the table.

He didn't like the idea of taking Crowley back to the bunker. But Dean was right, they had a prison for Crowley. And Dean had verified Crowley's statement that he had information they needed. As much as it annoyed him to have to pause his hunt for Metatron and Gadreel, he would do as Dean asked and take the demon to the Winchesters.

He lowered Crowley's slumped body to the table.

Crowley had been right about the ambulance. That was frustrating. Crowley was also right that there were rules and social conventions against walking around without clothing. But maybe….

He did a quick search, in case Crowley had been lying about the lack of his clothing. He didn't think the demon had been, but it was Crowley. Unfortunately, the only clothes in the suite were the ones he and the demon girl wore. That meant Plan B.

he grimaced, then yanked the dark colored sheet off the bed, picked up some of the white and blood-stained towels, then shrugged out of his trench-coat.

He wrapped the towels around the worst of Crowley's wounds, the ones that were still bleeding, then draped the sheet over him like a Greek toga. He wished fleetingly that he and Crowley were closer to the same build, or that he could ask the hotel staff for clothing without potentially alerting demons or raising human suspicion. Or that he had enough Grace to simply make clothing, as he once could have done.

Finally, he got the rough toga wrapping secured to his satisfaction. Then he grimaced in disgust and slipped his trench-coat over Crowley's arms and buttoned it across the front. It looked ridiculous, even to his barely trained eyes, but at least the demon was technically covered.

He was going to have to thoroughly clean the trench-coat before he even considered wearing it again.

He picked up one of the demon manacles and pocketed it for later, made sure he had his angel blade secured in his suit jacket, then heaved a sigh and hauled Crowley upright, arm across his shoulder. He mentally reviewed the story he planned to tell if anyone caught sight of them, then maneuvered the demon to the door of the suite. A quick check revealed no one in the hall, so he ducked out, grunting as he carried Crowley's limp body to the stairwell.

He made it to the stairs safely, breathing slightly easier as they ducked through the door. Hauling Crowley down the stairs was an irritating and awkward task, one he doubted he would have been able to accomplish without the greater strength of his angelic abilities. Still, he made it to the ground floor. He was about to open the door when it was shoved open from the other side by a young hotel staff member.

The boy stopped, eyes wide. Castiel stopped too.

The young man swallowed once, then spoke. "Sir..."

"My associate was injured. Mugged. He doesn't seem to be able to tend to his own injuries, so I'm taking him to get help." Simple, quick, and as close to the truth as he could tell it. Exactly like Dean had once taught him. Once Dean had trained him out of stating flatly that he was an angel, that is.

"Oh. We can call an ambulance for you..."

"I'd prefer to take him myself. He has...special requirements." He glanced around. "Assistance in getting him out to my car without onlookers would, however, be greatly appreciated." He shifted Crowley's weight against his side. Then he recalled something Dean had once done, in a similar situation. Money.

Dean and Sam had made sure after Gadreel's departure that he always had cash. And a credit card. He didn't need food, but it had proved essential for motel rooms and making sure the car had gas. And fortunately, it was in his suit jacket pocket instead of his trench-coat pocket.

He dug into his pocket, extracted a bill awkwardly with his hand and pulled it out. A 20. Hopefully good enough. He held it out to the young staff member. "For your services."

The young man nodded. "Sure. Give me a second. You parked in the parking garage?"

"I parked in an empty place near the street. I was in a hurry." He considered leaving it at that, but that might be too vague for the young man. "It was near the back."

"You mean the service entrance?"

"Possibly. I didn't stop to read the signs."

"All right. Well, most of the staff's out. Give me a second to check and see where the night service staff are and clear the way for you." The young man considered. "Can you wait here for ten minutes, then bring your friend to the staff doors?" The young man must have seen his frown. "They're marked as Staff and Management Only, no Unauthorized Access."

"Very well. That should be adequate."

"Right. Ten minutes." The young man stuck his head out of the door, then disappeared through it.

He waited the requested ten minutes, Crowley's dead weight getting heavier on his shoulder, then carefully eased himself and his burden through the door.

There was no one in sight, except for the young man, who was waving at him frantically from a door to one side. He took the hint and followed made his way to the door as quickly as he could, glad for the increased strength of an angel. And the fact that he was taller than Crowley was. It made his task much easier.

He slid through the door and the young man shut it behind him, then led him to another, thicker door. "Here. This'll take you out the back way. Other end of the hall is the service entrance. If you move fast, you shouldn't run into anyone. They're all doing clean-up and stuff. It's only our stocking clerk, and I asked him to check something in the room service supplies."

Castiel stuck his head through the door, to see a long hallway, and a metal door marked 'Service Entrance' at the other end. He turned back to the young man. "Thank you." He remembered Dean's habit of tipping people who helped him and dug into his pocket for a few extra bills. He handed them to the server. "For your assistance."

The young man offered him a shy smile. "Yeah. No problem." His head turned toward the door. "Good luck sir. I'd take you to the exit, but I have to go take care of my work before I get caught. Don't want to get fired."

"Of course. I can manage from here." He wedged the door in front of him open with a shoulder, then maneuvered Crowley through it. He didn't bother to look back at the young man. He simply stayed focused on moving fast, as suggested. He thought he heard the click of the door, but didn't check.

Within five minutes, he was out the door. Fifteen minutes later, he found where he'd left his car. He unlocked it, lowered Crowley into the front passenger seat where he could keep an eye on him, then got in behind the wheel and started the vehicle.

Within two minutes, they were on their way.

 ** _Author's Note:_** _Rescue accomplished!_


	3. Chapter 3: Road Trip

**Chapter Three: Road Trip**

He regained consciousness with his head pounding, and the definite sensation of moving. And an awareness that, however he normally was, at the moment he was somewhat prone to motion sickness. He kept his eyes closed and took stock of his condition.

He was in a vehicle of some kind. Smooth ride, low motor tones, smelled vaguely familiar. He hoped that was a good thing.

The blood fever was still strong, but weak enough that he'd probably been out a few hours. It hadn't ebbed enough for him to feel the cravings again, but it was low enough that the burning flood of sensation had dropped a few notches, enough for him to feel moderately in control of himself. He'd probably been down two to three hours then.

His myriad wounds ached, his face worst of all. Castiel had certainly punched him hard. He'd be worried about a broken nose if he wasn't sure that Lola had done that at least twice before. Though being Castiel, the angel could have simply given him a concussion.

He didn't feel naked any more. Neither did he feel properly dressed. He was wearing something with sleeves, but he didn't feel any undergarments on his person, and his legs seemed to be draped in loose fabric of some kind, with no other covering. And he was barefoot. There was a thin band of metal around his wrist that was most likely a demon-shackle, if Castiel was being his usual paranoid angelic self. And he felt a restraint that was probably a seat belt, though why the angel bothered was beyond him.

He might as well look and see what was what. He cracked his eyes open cautiously.

He was in the front seat of Castiel's god-awful gold car. The angel was in the seat next to him, driving. He looked different, but it took him a moment to place the difference.

Castiel wasn't wearing his bloody trench-coat. Instead, he was wearing only a simple three piece suit. Black jacket, white shirt and black pants. It made him look far more sophisticated, more worldly.

He saw a flicker of tan, and looked down, only to discover the reason Castiel wasn't wearing his trench-coat. The blasted thing was fastened around him instead. He grimaced. "You've got to be bloody joking. Beige is absolutely not my color."

Castiel's eyes flickered towards him. "You're welcome to remove it."

Considering how undressed he felt already, he shook his head. "You couldn't find anything better?"

"Not without alerting the hotel staff, and any possible demons. I did the best I could with what I had." Castiel didn't even take his eyes from the road. He'd bet the angel had learned to drive from Moose, not Squirrel.

He looked at the rest of his apparel, then frowned in appalled shock when he realized that Castiel had simply wrapped him in a hotel sheet. It covered him, he supposed, but the indignity of his current state of dress was humiliating. He glared at the angel. "What the bloody hell?"

"It was the best I could do."

"A sheet? Your best was a bloody sheet and a trench-coat? How in hell did you even get us out of there? I suppose you're going to tell me you walked out the ruddy front door for all to see?" he should be grateful to have been rescued at all, he knew that, but the circumstances grated, and his injuries made him snappish.

"I did the best I could." The phrase was getting repetitive, and the glare Castiel shot him could have fried a normal demon alive. "And no. I didn't walk out the front door. I took you down the back staircase. One of the staff helped me avoid the others and find the back exit. I told him you'd been...mugged. And I paid him for his help, and his discretion."

Well, well. He hadn't thought the angel had it in him. He wondered when the feathered wonder-boy had learned that particular skill set. Toting bodies, lying, tipping staff...it was such a human thing to do.

He forced his temper back to smoldering embers. "I suppose it's too much to ask for a decent set of clothing now. I'd prefer not to walk in on the Wonder Twins in my current state."

The angel's jaw tightened. He glanced at something on the front panel. "It's four in the morning. When we reach the next town, after daylight, I'll stop at a thrift store and see what I can find."

The idea of wearing second hand cheap clothing made his skin crawl. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers. And anything was better than his current attire. He'd half expected the angel to refuse to clothe him at all. Apparently Castiel was at least a little more merciful than that. He nodded. "Fine."

Four in the morning. Either he'd been out longer than he thought, or it had been later than he'd believed when Castiel had rescued him. He blinked at the clock. "How long have I been out?"

"Three hours."

About what he'd expected. He probed his face gingerly, then flipped the visor down to look at his face in the tiny overhead mirror. His nose didn't look to be broken after all, but he had a lovely purple-black bruise over the temple and forehead. "Honestly, did you have to hit that bloody hard?"

"Yes."

He scowled. "Are you going to spend the whole trip talking in monosyllables? Because I have to say, darling, it's going to be a rather long road trip if you are."

Castiel shot him a glare. "And what would you have me talk about?"

"Anything. I've been rather out of the loop the past few weeks, what with getting trapped and tortured and all." He sighed. "I don't suppose you've been keeping tabs on the state of Hell, and its merry band of troublemakers."

"I've been more concerned with the doings of Heaven."

Well, at least it was conversation of sorts. "Yes. I heard from my informant that things were a bit chaotic. Gates of Heaven shut, angels all over the place. Dividing into factions. I'd heard a number of them were after you."

"Yes." Castiel's hands tightened on the wheel. "They believe I assisted with the closing of Heaven."

"Ah. Awkward that. Can't imagine where they'd get the idea that you might be a power-mad maniac, or in league with one." It was stupid, he knew it was, but he couldn't help the jab. He felt raw, off-balance, oversensitive, and had the irrational desire to not be the only one who felt that way.

The look glare Castiel shot at him was hot enough to potentially smite him in his seat. He held up his hands, his irritability fading with the reminder that he was at the angel's mercy. "Sorry. Human sensitivity. Makes me a bit touchy."

Castiel glared at him a moment longer, then returned his attention to the road.

He watched the angel, then ventured a new topic of conversation. "So...a little bird mentioned you've had your own brush with humanity."

Castiel's jaw clenched. After a moment, though, he answered. "Metatron stole my Grace and used it as part of his spell. He made me human and cast me from Heaven."

"I'll wager that was uncomfortable." Castiel didn't answer. "Heard you got powered up on some borrowed energy. Have to say, I didn't think it was possible. Didn't think essence worked like that." he studied the angel's profile. "Makes me curious. This car...did you learn to drive to stay inconspicuous, or is because you can't fly on those borrowed powers of yours?"

"None of the angels can fly. Myself included."

"Ah. Makes sense, I suppose." He considered the meaning of that. "So...when I started calling for you..."

"I left my hotel the moment I heard someone call out for me. I didn't know it was you."

"Naturally. Can't imagine you'd have come if you did, despising me as you do. Still...it is somewhat nice to know you didn't simply ignore me." He paused. "I suppose I ought to thank you, saving my hide and all."

"You're welcome." The words weren't particularly gracious, but then, neither had his thanks been.

Silence settled over the car again, awkward and tense. Still, he couldn't think what else to say.

His wounds ached. He prodded his stomach, feeling the constriction there. The angel had used something as a makeshift bandage. Thoughtful of him. He wished the angel had done something to splint his broken bones though. His hands and shins hurt.

He considered. He couldn't do much about the knees. They were fractured, but not broken badly enough to be misaligned. His hands though...he surveyed the bloodied fingers. No bones poking through the skin, partly because Lola hadn't gotten that far, and partly because she'd wanted his hands at least semi-usable if he decided to cough up information. But several of the joints and bones were out of place. So were his wrists.

That, he could do something about. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it would help in the long run. And if Castiel and the Winchesters chose to leave him healing at a human pace, it would be marginally more comfortable. Same for his shoulders, both of which had been wrenched during his bouts of thrashing.

He considered, then took hold of the door handle with clumsy fingers, angled his body and jerked, twisting with a sharp motion that he'd learned centuries ago. He hadn't become a master torturer and the King of Crossroads, much less the King of Hell, without learning all the ways it was possible to put a body back together or take it apart. And there were his own years on the rack to consider.

His shoulder popped into place with a muted snap that made him wince, and Castiel twitch. The angel glanced sharply at him. "What are you doing?"

"Putting my bones back in their proper places. Do you mind, or shall I wait for you to do it for me?" He stared at the angel, wondering if Castiel would demand he wait. Wondering what he would do if the angel did demand he stop. It wasn't like Castiel could really do anything for him. Demon versus angel and all that.

Castiel frowned at him a moment, then returned his attention to the road. "Just don't bleed on the seats. I like this car."

"Fine. Got it. No bleeding on the furniture." He returned his attention to his injured frame.

It took him over an hour to tend to everything. None of it was pleasant. It didn't help that the throbbing in his joints was echoed by the pulsing in his head and gut, as the blood addiction made itself known. The ebbing tide muted the sensations of pain a little bit, but replaced it with a grinding aching desperation that was almost worse.

Finally, his bones were mostly aligned properly. He'd need to be careful not to jolt them, but at least they were more or less positioned correctly.

Dawn was coming up as he settled back into the seat. He swallowed hard against the rising tide of thirst in him, the desire for more blood. "Don't suppose you've got anything to eat or drink in this lovely little vehicle?"

"I don't need anything." Castiel frowned at him. "You shouldn't either."

"Still half human, Feathers. I won't starve, but a little bit of sustenance never hurts." And it would help mute the craving that flooded his system. He sighed. "Blast it. I would have preferred to remain forgetful of just how constricting humanity can be."

Castiel made a soft sound he couldn't quite define. Then, to his surprise, the angel actually answered him. "It does have it's points of unpleasantness. I never got used to being hungry. Or cold." The angel was silent a moment, then continued, his voice low and thoughtful, as if talking to himself. "The requirements of being human...bathing, sleeping, eating...urinating...they were all very frustrating. But it did have it's good points."

As distractions went, it was a good one. He was curious enough that it actually took his mind off of his wounds and the gnawing pain of his addiction. "Really? What did you like? I tend to go for the sex, Scotch and hallmark films myself. Decadence and sin and all that. Don't tell me...you were a fan of church hymns."

"I didn't spend much time in churches. Too much risk of being found and killed. No...I like food. And hot showers. And it was...interesting, having a job, dreaming, working. I'd no idea human lives were so complex."

Crowley snorted. "Figures you'd miss the good stuff. I thought one of the twins would have introduced you to at least some of the vices."

Castiel shifted. "I did...discover some of them. Beer is excellent. And sex...it was very good. Until the next morning, of course."

Crowley choked. "Excuse me? You, angel of the lord, mister 'not even going to kiss for a deal'...you had sex?" He stared at the angel. "Who in hell managed to tempt you into that?" He'd tried to tempt the angel, had some of his best demons try to tempt the angel. Hell, he'd even had some of his best mortals, the ones who'd do anything to extend their contract, make a pass at Castiel. It had driven him mad that the only being who'd ever made any headway had been that bitch, Meg.

Castiel's jaw tensed. He glared at Crowley, then back at the road. For a long moment, he thought the angel wouldn't answer. Then Castiel sighed. "Her name was April. She took me in when I got lost in a city. She gave me food, and a dry place to sleep, bandaged my wounds. After that, one thing led to another….and…it was quite excellent."

He almost asked for details, then decided he didn't want to know. More fun to imagine, and make sly remarks later. But his brain went back to what Castiel had said moments earlier. "Dare I ask about the morning after? Did she make you eat your vegetables or something?"

"She turned out to be a rogue reaper, hired by one of the faction leaders to find and interrogate me. After I woke up, she bound and tortured me." Castiel's voice went flat, cold, hard.

Normally, he'd have teased the angel. But given what Castiel had just rescued him from, he didn't have any room to speak on the matter. And there was enough humanity in his system to make him feel slightly abashed on the angel's behalf. As far as he knew, Castiel hadn't had a bed partner before his run-in with humanity. And Lucifer knew, even he'd had a better first experience than that. He grimaced. "My sympathies. Hope you at least got some pleasant memories out of it."

Castiel relaxed a little. "She was very hot. Even by Dean's standards."

Personally, Crowley didn't consider Dean Winchester to be all that discerning. Not that he could speak for his recent choices. But it made him wonder what Castiel's type was. He thought about it, then decided he really didn't want to know. It was amusing, thinking of a pious angel having a preference for that sort of thing, but he suspected that knowing the details would make him nauseous. And he didn't want to share that sort of moment with the angel.

Actually, the thought made him shudder a little bit.

"Change of topic, shall we?" He considered. "Favorite food. I'm betting you had a chance to get a variety in, what with the Witless Wandering brigade. What did you like best?"

Castiel shot him a glare for the slur to the Winchesters, but answered the question. "Sam likes salads and cereals, which are healthy, but not particularly filling. Dean favors things like burritos and cheeseburgers, which I liked better."

"Your favorite food is a cheeseburger?" He hadn't pegged the angel for a carnivorous type. Or the fast food type, honestly.

"No. Cheeseburgers remind me too much of my vessel."

"Well then...burritos?"

Castiel shifted in his seat. "Actually...I prefer peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches."

He coughed. "Seriously? All the food in the world, and you like five-year-old lunch food?" he stared at the angel.

"I like the texture. And it's easy to eat." Castiel glared at him defensively.

Crowley was tempted to make a smart remark, but really, when all was said and done, he didn't have much room to judge. He settled for looking away and shrugging. "I suppose at least it's a classic."

"What about you?" Castiel's question startled him.

He answered it, because turnabout was fair play and a return to silence would only leave him time to dwell on his myriad aches and pains. And besides, it wasn't that embarrassing. "Pizza. Mostly meat. Sometimes the pizza with everything. Not really the best with wine or scotch, but I make do."

"Dean says pizza goes with beer."

"Dean thinks everything goes with beer or rotgut. I wouldn't trust his taste in alcohol."

He saw Castiel frown in profile. Then the angel blinked, and abruptly pulled over and down an off-ramp, into the heart of a mid sized town. He pulled up to a stop sign, looked both ways, then turned right.

Crowley stared at him. "Any particular reason you pulled off here? Or did you just discover a random desire to explore rural America?" He frowned. "Can't be a bathroom break, or a food break. Neither of us need it." He wouldn't say no to a candy bar, but he didn't feel like admitting that.

"No. But I need gas, and I saw a sign for a Goodwill store down this road."

"Ah. That makes more sense." He hadn't paid attention to the slowly lightening sky, what with the injuries, and the oddity of actually having a successful conversation with Castiel that didn't involve too much blatant hostility and suspicion on both their parts.

A minute later, Castiel pulled the car into a gas station. Crowley stayed quiet in the front seat while the angel filled the tank and paid for the gas. A part of him was annoyed that they couldn't have gotten clothing first, so he could change while Castiel filled the tank. The rest of him was rather relieved. For one thing, gas station bathrooms were usually filthy beyond words. The idea of dressing in one made him shudder. For two, the idea of getting out of the car as he was, in public, made him feel mortified.

And there was the bloody addiction. He'd been able to ignore it, stuck in a car with Castiel and no one else, his mind occupied with tending his wounds and trying to uphold a truce-time conversation with his rescuer. But now, seeing people come and go, listening to the hum of humanity around him...the pain spiked, the desire rippling through him and clawing in his gut. The desire to grab someone and bite down. The urge to cut some random sap's vein and drink, the desire for just one syringe of red liquid….he ached with it, could feel the sweat beading on his face in withdrawal fever. He clenched his hands in Castiel's trench-coat to keep them from shaking.

Damn it.

He was so focused on trying to control his craving that he actually jumped when Castiel opened the door. "Bollocks. Warn a demon, would you?"

Castiel frowned at him. "I was not particularly stealthy in my approach." Crowley shifted as the angel studied him a moment. "You appear unwell."

He snorted. "I'm a half-human demon who's been tortured for god knows how long, and now I'm sitting half naked, powerless and beat up in a pimp car driven by an angel. Of course I look unwell." He turned away. "You should be grateful I'm not puking all over your bloody interior."

"Don't even think about it." Castiel shut the car door. "The Goodwill is just down the street." He started the car and pulled out. Crowley tried not to choke on bile as the craving translated itself to nausea. He felt like he could kill for a dose of human blood. Or a bloody chocolate bar. He'd even eat Hershey's or M&M's at this point.

Hell, he'd even eat a blasted peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Castiel pulled up to the Goodwill store and turned the car off, then looked at him expectantly. He shuddered. "I am not going in there choir-boy, no matter what you say or do. I'd rather be naked, thank you." The idea of walking around a store in his ridiculous coat and sheet ensemble made his skin crawl, and the idea of being in close proximity with so many people made his hands shake. He closed his eyes, so Castiel wouldn't see the desperation in them. "I can tell you my sizes, and I don't care what you get. Buy bloody sweats and jeans and boat shoes for all I care."

"I don't see why I should do your shopping."

He bit back a snarl. "Because I'm too bloody injured to stand up properly. Want everyone to think you assaulted me? Especially with the hardware?" He held up his demon-shackled wrist. "Might make people a bit touchy."

There was a long silence, and he thought for a moment that Castiel would just drive away. Then the angel huffed, exasperation in his words. "Fine. Tell me."

He recited the list of numbers corresponding to his sizes, shoulders and waistline and leg length, his shoe size and undergarments (the last made the human part of him flinch in humiliation), and the roughly corresponding letter sizes (medium or large) for the shirts and pants if Castiel did go for casual. Castiel repeated it with the air of a teenager memorizing an unpleasant shopping list, then hopped out of the car and left him alone again.

He felt pathetic, unable to clothe himself. He felt weak, shamed, and the craving beat at him in a steady throb of desperate aching need. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, fighting it with everything he had in him.

Damn the Winchesters for turning him human, for imprisoning him. Damn Abaddon for taking his throne. Damn Lola for her betrayal. And damn him, for the mistakes that had led to this. He clenched his fists, allowing the slow burning to take over. It was better than the torment of his addiction. He let the anger fill him, clear his head a little, then forced himself to focus. To plan. It was what he did best, generally speaking, and he'd need to have some plans in place if he was going to be at the mercy of the Winchesters and Castiel again.

He still planned to take back his throne. And kill Abaddon. And kill all her lackeys. He also still had a slightly vested interest in helping fix the 'angels on earth problem'. Too many glorified bird-folk was bad for business, and reduced life expectancy.

Short term goals first. He needed to heal from his wounds. He needed to help Dean get the First Blade, as they'd agreed. He'd have to find a way to get himself out of the Winchester's grasp, preferably without getting killed. Too much to hope they'd change their minds about him, even without Castiel at their shoulders.

Healing and the First Blade. Those were the priorities. That and managing his damned blood cravings. He'd deal with the Winchesters and Castiel as he had to.

The door clicked open and Castiel settled into the driver's seat and handed him two bags. "Here."

He looked. Socks, cheap polyester but wearable. Plain shoes, but at least they weren't boots or some such. Button-up shirt and slacks, both dark colors. Castiel hadn't bought him top-shelf clothing by any means, but it was at least clean, wearable, and followed his preferred style.

"Appreciated. Glad you have at least some modicum of fashion sense. Can we please leave and find some place where I can change in peace?" He closed the bags and glanced at the angel. "I'd like to get out of the sheet as soon as possible."

Castiel brought the car to life and pulled out. Crowley closed his eyes and clenched his hands in the bags, feeling the simultaneous relief and ache as the crowded parking lot vanished in the rear-view mirror. Minutes later, they were back on the highway.

Castiel drove for a good half an hour or so, then pulled off. Crowley eyed the clearly abandoned gas station they'd pulled up to. "You can't be serious."

"You wanted privacy." Castiel's voice was low and grating. "This place is deserted."

And filthy, but he'd inhabited worse. And he was tired of feeling the sheets over his legs, the roughness of the towel bandages, and very tired of feeling cold and exposed.

Castiel shut off the engine. Crowley unbuckled his seat belt with clumsy, awkward fingers, then opened his door. Swinging his feet to the side awoke a hundred dull aches in him, the sharp pang of roughly bandaged wounds and the deeper throb of abused muscle and bone. The rough gravel of the parking lot they'd pulled into hurt his abused feet, awaking memories he'd rather not revisit. He set his jaw and tried to pull himself up.

Pain exploded in his lower body as he put weight on the broken and fractured bone. A low snarl of agony ripped from him. He snatched at the door frame to stop his fall, only to gasp again as his hands protested the pressure. Damaged bones and joints that had stayed mostly in place when he clenched his fists wrenched and tore and twisted at the unexpected applied force. He let go and fell haphazardly to the pavement, robbed of breath as his shins and hands impacted concrete. Even with his pain tolerance his vision went gray and black at the edges, and it was all he could do to keep breathing and prevent himself from screaming.

He heard light footsteps, then Castiel's voice. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" He twisted his head up to look at the angel. Anger born of hopelessness and pain surged through him. "What's wrong? I spent days being tortured, my nerves rubbed raw by the humanity those two denim clad morons infused me with. What's wrong is that I have two fractured shins, a broken knee-cap, damaged shoulders, damaged elbows, damaged wrists, broken hands and more lacerations and burns than I can bloody well count, and thanks to you and Abaddon's bitch whore, I can't heal and I can't move properly and I can't even clean and dress myself with my powers...and I bloody well still feel like a bloody human! Which means I feel...everything!" He was panting when he finished the rant. He slumped sideways onto his elbows, because at least it hurt a little less.

Castiel stood over him a moment longer, then grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a sitting position. "Perhaps you should consider praying."

"Don't be any dafter than comes naturally. That was a one-shot deal to get your attention, so you'd either get me out or gut me." Crowley set his jaw, wincing at the pain.

Castiel dropped into a crouch in front of him, a foot away and starting at him with eyes like a laser. "I said, try praying."

"Expecting a legion of angels to come marching in to finish me off?" Crowley sneered the words, but Castiel's deep blue gaze never wavered.

It was unnerving. He huffed a sigh, then closed his eyes. _'Bollocks. I would be rescued by the one angel who can't even kill a bloody demon properly. Lucifer knows I'd almost swear off killing, if I could at least have my bloody legs healed enough to walk and dress myself! Honestly, I don't think I'd mind if a bloody angel knifed me in the gut, as long as I got five seconds not feeling like I'd been run over by a spiked steamroller and set on fire!'_

Crowley blinked his eyes open. There were no angels. No one besides Castiel, who was still staring at him with unnerving blue eyes. "Sorry, don't think the Bible Brigade is coming, sweetheart."

Castiel's mouth twitched into a frown. "I heard you."

"Yes. I know. That's why we're here."

"No. I heard your prayer just now. You're still human."

"Part human." Crowley snarled the words out. "And yes, I know. I can feel it. What I can't do is see how that relates to my current predicament, beyond being an infernal nuisance."

"Angels can heal humans." Castiel lifted one hand. "It's not as strong as it should be, but I have enough grace to heal you. Partially."

A mingling of terror, shock and exhilaration washed over him. "Are you daft? I'm only part human, you feathered imbecile!"

A cold, bitter smile washed over Castiel's face. "And I'm less than half a proper angel." He reached out before Crowley could stop him and laid one shining hand against his head.

Power touched him, and something seized Crowley and seemed to tear him in two. The humanity in him surged up, leaping for the heavenly energy like a child lunging towards a beloved friend. The demon essence in him surged backwards in horror, fighting to escape. The opposing forces had his consciousness in the middle, and it hurt more than he had thought possible.

He heard Castiel give a choked gasp. Then the world went white.

 _ **Author's Note:** And let the fun begin..._

 _If anyone is wondering, yes, Cas did it because he can be compassionate. But also because he really doesn't want to deal with Crowley's fussing. And because it's inconvenient to deal with Crowley's dead weight._


	4. Chapter 4: Complicated Consequences

**Chapter 4: Complicated Consequences**

Crowley came awake slowly. His head ached, but compared to the pain that had knocked him out, it was barely worth thinking over. And besides the headache and a general fatigue he felt surprisingly well.

He could feel that his wounds had been mostly healed. Bones had fused, though they still felt fragile. The torn and strained tendons and ligaments were better aligned, less swollen and stiff. The lacerations and burns that had plagued him felt at least half healed, like they'd been inflicted several days ago.

More importantly, the clawing thirst was gone. The painful aching need of his addiction was gone. He still felt human, but the human in him felt calm, sated in a way that even the highs of human blood had never managed. He still felt it, felt the knife bright sting of emotions, but the gut-wrenching despair and loathing and desperation had been soothed, replaced by a sort of calm.

His demon essence was the source of the ache that lingered in his head, and in his core. That part of him felt like he'd been grabbed, shaken, and put through a wringer. Honestly, probing his demon half reminded him inexplicably of his human days, working through a load of wash. As if something had scrubbed a few layers of Hell filth and damnation out of him then left him out to dry. He wasn't sure exactly how it felt to him, really. Cleaner, in some way. Uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

A retching, hacking cough distracted him. He turned his head in time to see Castiel sit up, roll over and heave his guts out onto the concrete. Not that there was much for him to cough up, but the gagging and choking noises were unpleasant to listen to.

Finally, the angel ceased gagging. He swiped a hand over his mouth. "That was unpleasant."

Crowley smirked. "Told you so. Angels and demons aren't meant to mix. Would have thought you knew that."

Castiel glared at him. "At least it worked."

"That it did." He hoisted himself to his feet. He ached, but no worse than that. Certainly not the stabbing pains that had sent him to his knees before. Without thinking, he gestured to clothe himself.

Power flowed. It felt...off, not like normal demon power, but he barely had time to notice before he was dressed, clad in the suit Castiel had provided. Which wasn't half bad, for a cheap suit.

He and the angel froze. Castiel stared at the shackle that bound his wrist. "How did you do that?"

"Same way I do anything." Crowley flexed his hands, feeling for the power flows in his body. His demonic essence was still sealed away. So how had he done that?

No sense wasting the advantage though. He looked at the angel, then moved forward, hoping to catch Castiel off guard.

Castiel ducked in a well trained move, then flickered out of sight, then stumbled back into visible range on the other side of the car. Crowley winced as he felt something in his core twang faintly, like he'd used his powers.

But he hadn't.

He dismissed the thought to stare at the angel. "Thought you said all angels were grounded, darling."

"They are. That wasn't flying." Castiel looked vaguely nauseous. "That was...very uncomfortable. I've never used transportation like that."

Crowley frowned at the angel. "Like what?"

"Like...falling. Falling into blankness."

That sounded very familiar. A horrible suspicion bloomed in Crowley's gut. "Do it again." Castiel glared at him, and he returned the glare. "Come on now, I'm not just being rude, darling. I have a reason for asking. Just a short hop."

Castiel scowled at him for a moment longer, then flickered out of sight to reappear right next to him. He'd have felt threatened if he hadn't been paying more attention to his internal systems. To the slight tug he felt, as if he'd used his powers.

As if he'd transported himself somewhere.

He called power to his hand, to transform cheap polyester into his preferred threads, and to reinforce the healing to his broken bones. The power came, bringing with it that odd, tingling, washed-over feeling. Beside him, Castiel made a small noise.

Suspicion curdled into certainty. "You felt that, didn't you Feathers."

Castiel's scowl would have blistered paint. "Yes." His hand flicked, bringing his blade to bear. "What did you do to me?"

"I didn't. It's what you did to me." He matched the angel glare for glare. "I told you not to try to heal me. Not to touch me with that blasted Grace of yours. And now, somehow, I don't bloody well know how, our powers have been mixed." He cocked an eyebrow when Castiel opened his mouth to protest. "I can heal and repair things, even with my powers bound. And you? That fancy little teleport? I know that move. That's demon transport you're using. Demon spell."

Castiel's mouth snapped shut as he considered. "I don't like this."

"No more do I." Actually, he could think of several advantages. But none of them were enough to counter the discomfort of that washed out feeling, the way his demonic essence cringed inside him. "I think we'd better get to your favorite little pets now."

"They are not pets." Castiel frowned again but nodded and walked around to the driver's seat. Crowley settled back into the passenger seat and buckled the seat-belt.

The rest of the drive was quiet, and tense. Neither of them were in the mood for speaking. They stopped once for more gas, then kept going.

Crowley was more than happy with the silence. He had plenty to think about.

He should have been incinerated the minute the Grace touched him. He was a demon, that was what happened. He'd never heard of a demon being healed by an angel before. It should be impossible. But he remembered the way the humanity in him had surged up, welcoming the touch of divine energy. And the craving he'd felt before was gone, leaving him with an odd but not unpleasant energized feeling.

Wonder of wonders, it appeared Castiel had been right. They were both human enough for the healing to have taken. But he wasn't optimistic enough to believe there had been no adverse consequences at all.

If nothing else, he could look forward to the Winchester's reaction when they discovered his demon energy had tainted their precious little choir-boy. Moose was likely to try to either cure him or exorcise him on the spot.

They drove up to the Bunker just as dusk was setting in. Castiel parked the car, dragged him out of it, then led him to the door. A rather uninspiring door for a secret bunker. Then again, he supposed there wasn't much point in a noticeable secret door.

At least this time he got to see where he was going. Last time they'd blindfolded him.

Granted, when they found out what had happened on the road in, he'd be lucky if they didn't exorcise him. Or stab him.

Castiel made a phone call, then stood waiting patiently. Crowley shifted uncomfortably next to him, cursing the fact that he couldn't be the one with the teleportation powers. Not that he minded being able to heal himself and clothe himself again, but the transportation powers would have been a definite advantage.

Though it did raise the question of whether or not he could smite someone. That might be an interesting advantage to have. Abbadon certainly wouldn't expect that. He was still mulling over the implications and possibilities when the door opened.

Dean emerged with a scowl. "Hey Cas. Thanks for coming all this way." He turned to Crowley. "You got the Blade?"

"Do I have it? No. Do I have a good idea where it might be? Yes. As a matter of fact, I do."

Dean's scowl deepened. "Yeah? Well if you know where it is, why didn't you get it? And why are we talking if you don't have it?"

"I don't have it because there were...complications. And I came here because I find myself in need of some...assistance, shall we say, in acquiring the Blade without Abbadon's interference." Castiel made a sound, and he glared at the angel. "Well, her further interference, I should say."

"Yeah? She the reason you don't have the First Blade?"

"One of the reasons. The others...I suggest we talk inside that fancy little hidey-hole of yours. I'm fairly certain it's safer." He scowled at the hunter.

Dean matched him glare for glare, then pulled a set of cuffs off the back of his belt. "Fine."

Crowley backed up at once. "I'm not putting those on again." He raised on hand to show the shackle Castiel had put on him. "Besides, Feathers here has already given me all the accessories I need."

Dean growled, then stowed the chains in his belt. "Fine. But if Sam goes for you, it's not my lookout." He turned and stalked back inside the bunker.

"Go." Castiel indicated for him to follow with a jerk of his head. "And don't try anything."

"Not inclined to at the moment, darling." Tempting as escape would be, he wasn't sure he did really want to run for it. After all, if there was any way to undo what Castiel had done to them, the answer was probably in the Winchester's hands.

There was also the matter of getting Dean's assistance with ending Abbadon.

Not to mention, Castiel was the one with the power to teleport at the moment.

He followed Dean inside and down the narrow twisting stairs, supremely glad to be able to see them this time. Last time he'd had a hood over his head, in addition to all the anti-demon hardware Sam had put on him, and the stairs had been honestly nerve-wracking. To say nothing of being treated like a prisoner, shoved along with no regard to safety and health.

Moose was in the library at the foot of the stairs, surrounded by his computer and several books, which was about what he'd expected. He looked up at their entrance, then scowled. "Why isn't he chained up? Dean?" There was more than a hint of accusation in his voice.

"Cause Cas already put the magic manacles on him, so it's good. At least this way, he's mobile if we need to haul him somewhere."

"Yeah. It's if he decides to stab us in the back that I'm worried about."

"Yeah well, if he does that, he won't get rid of his little Abbadon problem. Not to mention..." Dean paused and took a gulp of beer from a bottle. "He tries anythin, and I'll kill him, First Blade or not."

"I'm touched. Truly." He answered Sam's scowl and Dean's dark smile with a smirk of his own. "So much trust among allies. Easy to see why you two have absolutely hordes of friends."

He might have said something else, if Castiel hadn't chosen that moment to interject. "It doesn't matter Sam. Binding Crowley's demonic abilities further will do no good."

"Yeah? Why's that?" Dean looked up.

Castiel scowled. "Because he can use mine."

Sam sat back with a blink of shock. Dean choked on his beer.

The elder Winchester coughed twice, then shook his head. "Excuse me? Repeat that, cause I could have sworn that you just said that Crowley could use your powers. Like, angel powers."

Castiel's scowl deepened, mixing with shamefaced resignation. "That is what I said."

Dean blinked. "But Crowley's a demon."

"I'm aware of that." Castiel glanced sidelong at Crowley. "It appears I can use his powers too."

"You're joking." Sam sat forward abruptly.

"No." Castiel grimaced.

Sam stood up, his gaze flicking between demon and angel. "Then I think you need to explain what's going on. Like, right now."

 _ **Author's Note:** Well, this is interesting for the Winchesters..._


End file.
